The Drowning Man and the Candle
by Sarah the nerd
Summary: Combeferre and Courfeyrac try, in as kind a way as possible, to turn Grantaire away from Enjolras.


This is based on a lovely, lovely prompt from Sclez at tumblr!

* * *

They arrived to meet him at the exact appointed time, in the darkest part of the bar. They didn't look right there, not right at all.

"R," said Courfeyrac, using the old nickname.

Grantaire gestured to the two chairs he had retrieved specially for them. "Sit and speak your piece, friends." He paused. "Are you friends, today? Well, sit anyway."

Courfeyrac and Combeferre sat. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at them when they didn't speak right away.

"This is by no means an attack on your character," Combeferre finally said. "We only mean to speak about…incompatability."

"Between me and Enjolras," Grantaire said, pouring another drink.

"We only want to ensure your feelings about him are healthy, for you both," Courfeyrac said in a voice that held none of his usual confidence. "Our concerns are for you as much as for him."

"No they aren't," Grantaire said, and the two-second hesitation from the other men proved he was probably right. He filled the silence before it had time to drain into him. "Did he speak with you? Did he send you here?"

"No," said Combeferre, and Grantaire drank to hide the twitch of relief on his face. "We came of our own volition."

"That makes sense. After all, you three are brothers in all but blood." At those words Combeferre looked down, seemingly rather pleased at that statement. "And now here they are, the older brother and the younger, to defend Enjolras's honour as if he were a blushing virgin."

Combeferre looked up again. He took off his glasses, which Grantaire knew to be a sign of frustration.

"You will distract him," he said, going directly to the point. "But not in the way you wish to. And he's not a man who can afford distractions."

"I keep my distance. I always have."

"It makes you unhappy," Courfeyrac spoke up.

Grantaire drank and didn't look at them. "I indulge myself at night."

Combeferre fidgeted, which he never usually did. "Our objections aren't…_those_ kind of objections," he said. "Not at all. Affections of this sort, they are uncommon, but not immoral-"

"Please," Grantaire said, "tell me more of my unhappiness."

"Enjolras is not what you seek," Courfeyrac said gently. "He can't be. He's a beautiful idea to you. But ideas don't love, R."

"Ah. Who spoke of love? Of course, it's the cry uttered beneath every word ever spoken, but _I_ did not say it. It is the ghost at the back of the theatre. Is it real? Is it stagecraft specifically designed to provoke? I don't know. If it makes the audience flinch, cheer, stand, applause, then it must be real nonetheless." Grantaire refilled his glass. Combeferre quietly caught the waitress's eye and ordered some food, but Grantaire kept talking, going from slurred mumbling to a strong voice, which was unexpected. "What would you have me do? Love is a candle in dark places, but it cannot be blown out. I have tried. I _can_ afford distractions, but none of them draw me away. Nothing ever will. I am in love, and I'm perfectly content for the candle to fall and burn the room down while I'm still within it. The heat will lull me to sleep before the flames ever reach me."

"Oh, R," Courfeyrac said sadly.

"But this is exactly it," Combeferre said, looking him straight in the eye. "Love cannot be faced with your eyes closed. It is not enough to sleep and dream."

"I would not be dreaming."

"You speak of love like it's death," Courfeyrac said. "It isn't. It is life."

"It would be both, I imagine, if you were loved back." This was the first time anything approaching bitterness had crept into his tone, and he instantly mentally rebuked himself for it.

A plate of food arrived, along with more liquor and a candle. Combeferre pointedly took the bottle of wine for himself, and Grantaire examined him thoughtfully.

"I have spoken about your dearest friend in the most problematic manner. And yet you're still here, drinking with me. Why?"

"I am your friend."

"Oh," said Grantaire, and drank to hide something once again; this time, it was shock.

"But Enjolras is, as you have rightly pointed out, my brother. He comes first. And I fear you may hurt him without realising it."

"I would never hurt him."

"Unrequited love can poison the heart. Or, there may come a time when he feels responsible for your - for you, at a time when you're in no position to contradict him-"

"I would never hurt him," Grantaire repeated, but a little less confidently. Courfeyrac passed him some of his own uneaten food: this was a thing they often did.

"You place Enjolras too highly above yourself." Combeferre said. "That will hurt you _both_, seeing him as more than human. If he cannot bleed, cannot fail, cannot die-" He framed this last one as an afterthought, although it was clearly anything but- "than he cannot love, and surely you deserve someone who will."

"I do not deserve anything," Grantaire said. He hadn't meant to say that, and attempted to replace it with, "I could not love my _equal_." That didn't sound right either.

"A drowning man loves the hand that reaches down to save him," Combeferre said gently, "but eventually he returns to dry land."

Grantaire leaned back in his chair, thoroughly miserable, and not touching the food. Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged a worried look.

"Things will get better, R," Courfeyrac said. "I promise. Hey, do you want to go with me to the Palais-Royal next week-"

"No," said Grantaire, with a long ragged sigh.

They sat in silence, picking at the food. Finally Combeferre stood up and made his excuses.

"I have to be up early tomorrow. Go home and get some rest, Grantaire. The shore is near and you need not struggle against the tide. Lower your feet. You will find solid ground." And he left. Courfeyrac began to wrap the leftover food.

"Marius will be glad of this. If you don't want it?"

"I don't want it."

Courfeyrac squeezed his shoulder. "Look. You do love him. And that's good, love is always good. Cherish it."

"But don't share it."

"Just remember that someone who is capable of love is capable of anything," Courfeyrac said carefully. He blew out the candle and walked away through the darkening room. Grantaire stayed where he was, and after a few minutes laid his head on the table and slept. He dreamed of fire and water, but then emerging from it, and a hand taking his and leading him along the shore.


End file.
